


Brothers

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, John is not pregnant, Mystery, Omega John, Other, ipreg, murder!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: The USS Bakerstreet is assigned to escort an ambassador on a top-secret mission to negotiate for much needed dilithium reserves. But when they arrive, they find that the agent managing the auction is someone from Sherlock's past.When a murder disrupts the auction, Sherlock and John must move fast to prevent an inter-galactic incident





	1. Other POV

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this story had nothing to do with the plot of the STNG episode "Brothers", but the title was too convenient. Wait until we get to the story, "Omega Glory". That one really has nothing to do with the plot of the original Star Trek episode.
> 
> "The game is a foot" is both a quote from ACD's Sherlock Holmes and Henry V.

Arthur Cadogan West III looked at his uncle and tried to appear like he was paying attention.

Admiral West said, "I'm only doing this as a favor for my brother. But if you mess up one more mission, then I can't help you."

Arthur Cadogan West III smiled obsequiously, while thinking about how many times he'd heard that speech. About what a fool his uncle was. "Thank you. You won't regret using your influence to get me this assignment."

A mission to the arse end of space to negotiate a mineral deal with the Breen. No assistants to help him. Just him. As if that was fitting for a man with his talents. His skills. His quality. He should be on assignment in one of the main embassies. Alpha Centauri. Trill. Not New Vulcan. That would be too unpleasant, but an embassy.

Not shuttled about like garbage.

Fortunately, his uncle was not his only source of influence. Arthur Cardogan West III smiled and planned.


	2. Chapter 2

The whole sex pollen planet left John feeling shaken.

John just didn't want to believe Sherlock's utter callousness to a woman losing her infant. How shattering a miscarriage could be. He thought about some of Mum and Dad's attempts when he and Harry had been little. How quiet Mum'd been after. It made him so angry to think that Sherlock didn't get how it could eat at a person. Not get what a personal thing it was.

Followed close by the thought that the most sex he'd had in the last year was with a complete and utter cock.

His commanding officer, who held John's career in his control, and if what had happened got out, John would could get more than a little reprimanded. More like court martialed for fraternization.

A cock that was the fertilizer of twenty clumps of cells currently stored in holo statis cubes under John's bed. At least the most recent encounter had not ended in John being once again bred all to fuck.

He decided firmly that the only reason he'd ended up with Sherlock not once but twice in a week's time was a lack of work life balance. He'd been doing nothing but work and study since the Borg attack.

It was pleasure to see Victor Hatherley walk into Sherlock's ready room. Uncomplicated. Handsome. Friendly. Pleasant. A really nice alpha. Not an utter pillock with utterly no idea how to respond to the most basic of human situations.

Of course, Sherlock was an utter prick to Victor at the first meeting. John touched Hatherley's arm at the end of the briefing and said, "I can bring you up to speed over a coffee if you'd like."

Hatherley glanced back at Sherlock as they left the ready room. "Is Commander Holmes one of those alphas who has to piss over everything? Because if he is, that'll make this a long assignment."

"He's the most brilliant man I've ever met," slipped out, but John followed that with, "but he has zero social skills." John touched Hatherley's arm again. More to remind himself that Hatherley at least wasn't a prick. "Come on."

John gave Hatherley a highly edited update about the events of the last week, while strongly implying that John had fallen into the spin the wheel, not giant orgy end of the crew.

"Wow, sound like I missed," Hatherley shook his head, auburn hair falling charmingly over his forehead, "a horrible series of events." He smiled at John. "It's bad enough the scientists who designed us gave alphas and omegas this ridiculous have sex or feel really uncomfortable drive, but to have the galaxy throw additional challenges our way makes it even worse." He looked down at his coffee. "I wasn't at the battle of Wolf 359, but I had a lot of friends who died there. Puts a lot of things in perspective. Makes a person reevaluate what's important."

John sipped his coffee, not sure where this was going.

"I know I didn't end things exactly well with you at the academy. Breaking it off because I was graduating."

John thought Hatherley had ended things spectacularly well to both their mutual satisfaction. But he hummed encouragement.

"When I saw you'd been posted to this assignment, I had been hoping that you would be interested in giving us another chance. I hope I'm not reading too much into your invitation to coffee," Hatherley looked around the busy galley, "in this very romantic location that maybe you'd be interested in the same thing too." Hatherley spread his perfectly nice hands on the table. "A proper relationship this time. Take it slow. Try it out."

It was the easiest thing in the world to put his hand over Hatherley's and say, "I'd like that."

Of course, he got some hazing from the rest of the omegas at the Aug Soc, after Hatherley attended a few minutes of their next do.

"You sir, have great game," said Khatri. "Victor Hatherley has been on board for five minutes and already you are sharing meals. I have never seen such game as this."

"Wait," said Owen, his brow furrowing, "I thought you and Commander Holmes," he made a complicated gesture that implied multiple flailing limbs and an unlikely – if accurate – level of penetration.

"I've taken the polywater pledge," said John raising his right hand.

"Speaking of which," said Lucy slowly, "You need to do something about the emergency hologram."

"Julian? Why?" asked John, genuinely puzzled and got the equivalent of an anti-matter explosion from the other omegas.

Julian had prescribed an analgesic lotion to Khatri with lavender fragrance. "Fragrance was bad enough, but lavender!"

"Ah," said John, who didn't need to have finished med school to know many Augments were allergic to lavender and all of them were sensitive to chemical based fragrances.

"I went in for," Sun Liu flushed, "an omega related treatment, and the hormone treatment it gave me was... I had trouble even getting out of bed. I am not a slacking person. I work hard, but..."

"What did he give you?" asked John, and groaned as he got the answer. Admittedly, he was going off of mostly anecdotal information, but what with Augments being incredibly prone to depression as a result of the hormonal cocktail going on in their bodies, Julian couldn't have prescribed a worse prescription. "I'll see what I can do."

"John," said Lucy, shifting uncomfortably and clutching her soda water, "I don't feel comfortable seeing the hologram as a physician. Everything it knows is based off of the Starfleet medical database, which everyone knows doesn't have enough information that's deficient to Augments."

"But he knows a lot more than I know," protested John. "I'm not a doctor. I have a pre-med degree and a few credits of training so far."

"But he's basing our treatments based on Human physiology. You know how few medical studies there are that just focus on Augments." There were tears in Lucy's eyes and there was something she wasn't saying. He raised his eyebrows encouragingly. She said very softly, "I... he... gave me a tranquilizer when I was affected by the polywater." She swallowed. "I... I checked. It had carfentanyl in it."

Which was when the other chip dropped about what she was trying to say. Carfentanyl was an opioid, and an immune depressor for Augments. Most commonly used by omegas trying to get pregnant.

Because as many ovum as an omega might release as a result of knotting during heat, a side effect of the hyperactive immune systems the original scientists in the old USSR had created was that the immune systems of an average omega attacked newly fertilized zygotes and blastocysts attempting to implant as invaders. Even later at later stages of gestation, embryos and fetuses might be attacked, as the omega's body tried to heal itself.

From the puzzled looks around the room, John could tell that not everyone was familiar with carfentanyl or what it did. "I," he looked back at Lucy, "is there something you want me to do?"

"I haven't decided," said Lucy, heavily.

Owen interjected, "Actually, truth told, I'm thinking that Julian's a bit..." he waggled his hand, "it's not that Julian doesn't know his medical shite, it's the fucking shite that some moron fed into him. Went in  with a burn on my hand, cuz I will keep forgetting my fucking gloves when working with the... you know you don't fucking care. Point is, in I go, my hand is throbbing like its fit to burst, and he wasn't going to give me anything for the pain while he regened it. Some fool put in the database that Augments have a higher pain tolerance. Somehow, my swearing like a fool wasn't enough to get across that fucking Augments fucking feel real fucking pain."

"You must stop holding back and tell us how you really feel," said Khatri.

Owen flipped her off, in a lazy motion.

The group chuckled and the conversation hit one of those lulls that sometimes happened. John leaned forward to squeeze Lucy's hand.

Into that lull, Bailey said, "I… I… I've been thinking about transitioning to an alpha. Do you think the hologram would know what that means?"

That dropped in the pond like the dramatic reveal it was. Khatri wanted to know if Bailey was sure and Sun Liu wanted to know how long they'd known and Lucy said, "Wonderful. We could use another alpha on board ship." She glared at John, who had no idea what he'd done.

But John ended up talking with Bailey about scent markers, hormone treatments, and about Harry, who'd transitioned from an omega to an alpha the year he went to the Academy. "Course that was just was just when they let her do it. She knew ages before then."

Bailey, who was at least twenty years older than John nodded. They asked hesitantly, "Did it cause much drama in your family?"

John had to think about that. That whole period had been non-stop drama from the time John had entered his teens. Between John going a bit alpha crazy, the unfortunate incident with Tadpole, being sent off to boarding school for his own good, the theater troop breaking up for a bit, and his parents very quiet fights between putting on Tellerite dinner theater. It had been a crazy time. Harry's announcement that she wanted to transition from a male omega to a female alpha hadn't gotten nearly the attention it should have.

Sometimes John wondered if that's what Harry was so angry about. Course, Mum said that now that she was with Clara, she'd steadied out a good bit.

John said, "My family is made of drama," and told a true story about mum writing an experimental play about Harry's transition. Because, "Mum says change makes for great art."

Bailey looked worried, so John reassured them. "If you're sure, it's simple enough." A regime of shots and Bailey's own body would take over and they'd be an alpha. 

Knowing that it was necessary, dealing with the changes in biology, temper, how people reacted to them, feeling like a teen again that was another thing entirely. John didn't feel at all qualified to talk to that given he'd exchanged little more than birthday wishes with Harry for years, but he listened to Bailey talk about body diaspora and was someone to talk to.

The next day, he omega'd up and talked to Julian.

John started by asking Julian if he knew what the mark on John's neck meant. Julian examined him. "It appears to be a scar. Is it an old injury not listed in your medical records?" Which was good. Fine. It meant that his fellow Augments knew that somewhere along the way he'd had an unfortunate accident and Starfleet didn't. Then he went through the laundry list of complaints from the other omegas, ending with carfentanyl and how it could affect an omega.

Julian looked at him with an expression that John was starting to realize meant that Julian was quite literally processing and analyzing what he'd been told. Finally he said, "I'm afraid that I don't have information about these scenarios. I give Augment's Human treatments. You are Human."

"Yeah, but some very smart – or possibly stupid – people put a lot of effort into making us different."

"Yes, that is in the historical record," said Julian, which was about when it sank in that for all his Human appearance, Julian's programming had some serious limitations.

John said, "So, um... do you have any sort of algorithms for curiosity? A place to add information."

"I can add information to a particular patient's medical record or about my interactions with an individual, but I cannot add to the Starfleet medical database. Additionally, I have a control mechanism on my curiosity levels. Unless it's related to an immediate injury or illness. These restrictions are meant to ensure that I don't begin experimenting with Humans. However, once you have passed your medical exam, you will be able to add information to the ship's medical log." He smiled brightly.

"Oh." John parsed that was a good two years out. "Fine. Just, make sure I'm around if an Augment comes in." He rubbed the side of his head. "Makes things kind of awkward. I was going to see about reducing my study schedule to something a bit more reasonable. Leave some time for a social life."

Julian grinned, the previous conversation just melting away from his expression. "A work life balance is important. I hope it's not with Commander Holmes. That would be against regulations, unless there's outside influences, such as the polywater or sex pollen."

"Would you stop calling it that?"

"That's the commonly used term. And since I do have programming to try to avoid inter personnel friction, I'll remind you that I have seen you after both incidents and was able to scan genetic materials on both of you. I'm aware you've 'gotten together' twice."

John sighed and held three fingers up.

"You've had sex three times?"

John took a shuddering breath. It felt good to come clean about this to someone. "Once the third time. Multiple times the second. No idea how many times the first time."

Julian leaned back. "Interesting."

John grimaced. "That first time, was about fourteen hours non-stop." A bit like talking to a wall, this, but still it was a relief to say something to someone.

"I'm just a hologram, and we've just been exploring my limitations, but this appears to be very complicated."

"No, it's not. I'm going to start seeing Hatherley. We were involved once. We're going to give it another go." At Julian's look. "and he's perfectly good in bed." That didn't sound so great. "He's not a complete cock." John paused. "And you have no idea what a cock Commander Holmes has been."

"Given he won't let me speak two sentences before turning me off, I think I do know. Since there are no holo emitters in the rest of the ship, I can't speak for anywhere else."

"You know, about that. I'll see if Hatherley could set up a protocol to allow you to transfer to the holodeck. Give you a chance to look at something new now and again."

"Doctor Bashir is a man of many interests. Perhaps if I take up some of his hobbies, it'll make it easier for me to interact with the crew on a more social level." John had to think looking up treatment reactions for Augments was a bit higher priority, but Julian couldn't do much about that.

Just then, Holden came in complaining of a sore throat and tingles in his left ear. Julian had John run the diagnostic while he watched.

Later, John got together with Hatherley for dinner. Just sitting together in the galley, but a very nice sitting together. It was perfectly pleasant conversation. They followed it up with another dinner a few nights after. They went hiking on the holodeck on their day off. Hatherley invited John to attend a play in the holodeck with some of the engineering staff. John didn't have the heart to tell Hatherley that he preferred his theater live. They held hands. Kissed softly in the dark.

It was sweet. Nice. Pleasant.

He talked to Hatherley about changing Julian's setting to allow him to have some basic curiosity, but Hatherley laughed. "I couldn't even begin to know what the use cases are that went into making such a complicated program. It's probably not a good idea." He was less reluctant to add a method to allow Julian to transfer to the holodeck. "The holodeck is one level off from engineering. Not a bad idea to have a doctor nearby." Which earned him a kiss and a little playing doctor.

John wasn't sure how Hunter talked him into a set of tennis doubles with Julian and Hatherley, but it was fun.

Less fun was the way Sherlock would look at them during the morning briefings and say, "Doctor Watson prefers live theater." Or "Rainbow Falls on New Vulcan. Really? Boring."

Or the way he kept interrupting their dates.

Which fine, they were both Starfleet officers and even while running routine patrols, there were bound to be emergencies. But an emergency request for John to come up to the bridge because Sherlock needed John to get the tricorder from his back pocket was a bit much.

He talked to Hudson about it. More like, he stood next to her in the turbo lift fuming after being called away from a date yet again.

She said, "The Commander does run a little high strung doesn't he? I'm not entirely certain he's quite cut out for the minutia of command, but with a good portion of the fleet being cast into the cold dark of space, I'm just glad I'm here to help him." She patted his shoulder. "Now, of course, I don't like to listen in on my fellow crew's thoughts, but you're both so shouty and emotional."

"Emotional!" The idea was ridiculous. "He's not emotional. He doesn't understand emotions. At all."

"Hmmm… I wouldn't say that precisely. And he does have a lot of walls in his mind, and parlors, and there's a throne room," she held up her hands, "It is bit confusing. He's very metaphorical. But he does think very highly of you."

John snorted.

"Very highly. And all the time. Even when you're not there, you're there." She straightened the collar of his uniform. "So, if you could find your way to visiting the bridge every now and then, I think the crew would appreciate it." The lift door opened. "Oh, and be a dear and speak to poor Hebron. She's just beside herself. There you go." She pushed him out the door even though it wasn't his stop.

Which had John feeling like a bit shite. He hadn't checked in on Lucy. He'd figured if she wanted to come talk to him she would.

He tapped his com, "Computer, where is Ensign Hebron."

"In her quarters on deck five."

He was on deck five. The crew level with all its jungle paintings. He went to her quarters. "Lucy, can I come in?"

"Yes," came a faint reply. The door opened and Lucy was standing in the middle of the room, looking tired and worn. She hadn't applied that clay pigment she always wore to her hair and skin, which was serious. John had never seen her at the academy or on the ship without it.

She swallowed twice. "Sorry," and ran from the room into her tiny bathroom. He followed her and ended up steadying her as she was violently ill over the toilet. He got her a glass of water. Sat next to her on the small couch and held her while she cried.

When she stopped, he asked her very softly, as if the sound of his voice might break glass, "Have you decided what you want to do?"

"I don’t want to get rid of it. I've been taking this tea that suppresses my immune system, because I don't want my body to decide for me."

"There's a procedure." He felt strange even admitting to the existence of what he'd done. "You could have it later."

"I don't want to have it later." She pulled away from him. "I want it now. If my body doesn't reject it. And I want to stay on this ship and explore and have my career and I'm making real progress examining the Ceti Sexus Pollinis. Real progress." She threw the small pillow next to her. It landed with a soft plop on the floor. "Why do we have to be the ones to choose if we'll do one or the other? Why can't we have everything?"

"I don't know. I didn't make the rules." John barely understood the rules.

"Repressive rules." She kicked the pillow. "Would you come with me when I tell Commander Holmes? It's just, he's really pushed me on studying the Ceti Sexus Pollinis. I don't even know how to tell him that I'm choosing to give it up."

"Yes, of course." He squeezed her hand. "Have you told the father?"

"Yeah, yesterday. He hadn't even realized that Normal Humans and Augments were compatible." She grimaced. "I called him stupid. We're not separate species. Where does he think all of us Augments came from in the first place? Stupid."

"Sounds stupid." John patted her shoulder.

"Oh, he's not stupid." Sighed Lucy. "Just not for me. He said he'd support any decision I make, but… I don't know. He shouldn't have to quit to be nearby if I do have it, and I get that he wouldn't want to give up his career. Just because I'm about to torpedo mine." She looked up at him. "Could we go now? Before I lose my nerve."

John squeezed her fingers. "Let's go."

They went back to the bridge. Sherlock was sprawled with his legs draped over one arm of the command chair. His hands were in a position of prayer pressed against his lips.

He sat up as soon as they came out of the lift. "Doctor." He looked at Lucy. Blinked twice. "Ah." He stood up and strode to his ready room.

Which left them with little to do but follow him.

As soon as the door closed, he said, "Hebron, you're pregnant with Crewman Washington's child, he's a Beta, so the probability is that you're having a single child given the lack of coital stimulation from a knot. His absence during this confession speaks volumes. You have decided to keep it."

"Yes, sir." Lucy put her hands behind her back. "I'll put in for extended leave."

"Why would do that?" He walked over to the far end of the room. "You've only just begun to make progress on your analysis of why the Ceti Sexus Pollinis enabled Sh'Alaack and her bondmates to successful fertilize an ovum and why the resulting zygote split into monozygotic twins."

"Wait the sex pollen did what?" said John, who really wished that he'd finished his classes on reproduction. But having been assigned to a ship with no families, he'd thought he could let it wait until later. "Is that unusual?"

"We talked about this." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You may not have been there at the time." He waved a hand at Lucy. "Explain."

Lucy said, "We think there was some correlation between the Andorian's increased fertility and inhalation of the Ceti Sexus Pollinis. And yes, John, it's unusual. Andorians don't have twins, but that's exactly what happened. Of course, it could also be related to exposure to the Berthold radiation, or some combination. We don't know yet." She glared at the ceiling. "I guess I'll never find out."

"You will and you'll do it here," said Sherlock. Jumping off his chair to pace around the room.

"But I can't, regulations say that…"

"Pfff," said Sherlock. "I hate repeating myself. There is no need for you to transfer or go on leave. You can stay here. Examine the results from any other new specimens that we discover if that is what you want to do. It's what we're here to do. Explore."

"But… I… can't?" Lucy's voice lifted the last word into a question.

"No reason you cannot." He glanced at John. "Practically speaking the entire crew participated in an orgy, and it went in the logs as we can't remember what happened." He shook his head. "Quite frankly I don't understand why the Federation simply does not provide uterine replicators to citizens like a civilized society."

"Because that's not a thing," blurted John, feeling more than a bit lost in the conversation.

Sherlock stared at him. Not the scanner stare. But the confused, we speak separate languages look.

John kept thinking, and realized what Sherlock must be talking about. "Oh, like on the Borg ship." John grimaced. "Hard to imagine a pregnant Borg. Yeah, reproductive technologies have always lagged behind while there's a simpler," he waved at Lucy and himself, "alternative."

"Yes," Sherlock elongated the word like he was trying to keep himself from saying the next sentence. But all he said was, "I meant like on the Borg ship. With your usual acuity, you have hit my meaning precisely on the head."

John said, "You'd falsify the records to let Lucy stay?"

"What falsification. We simply will not record it. It'll come out eventually," his gaze flickered to Lucy, "but if you complete research that could save the Andorian race from extinction due to their own low reproduction levels, you'll be able to admit to anything you like. The Andorians are founding members of the Federation. They might build you a ship."

"But, Andorians don't..." John trailed off, because he'd been about to say that Sh'Alaack would never want to participate in any sort of study. He always had the impression that Andorians just didn't like to participate in research. Were less cooperative when it came to medical procedures, but Lucy was giving him a very pointed look as if daring some sort of half arsed bias to spill out of his mouth. He changed it to. "That's nice."

Lucy looked away from John, a smile spreading across her face. "That's more than nice. This will be career defining. It’s the sort of reason I joined Starfleet." She darted across the room and hugged Sherlock, before rushing out of the room.

As the door closed behind her, John said, "That's very good of you."

Sherlock scoffed, but looked pleased. "Would you… care to see the results of her research so far?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." It was a bit not good when John remembered later, much later, that he'd been on a date.

The next day, when Sh'Alaack came in with Khel, Ishros, and Shroleb. He was so focused on quashing any sort of implicit bias in how he thought about Andorians, that he a bit over did it. Congratulated them and effusing about how they were working with Lucy.

Khel flushed a deep blue. She leaned against Sh'Alaack, who said, "We didn't want to say anything until we could be sure the blastocysts survived the transfer to Khel's pouch.

"But how did you know, Doctor Watson?" asked Shroleb.

John didn't correct Shroleb that he wasn't a doctor just yet. "Commander Holmes told me."

"But how did he know?" asked Ishros.

 Sh'Alaack answered for John. "The Commander knows everything. But," paused Sh'Alaack, considering, "when did the Commander tell you?"

"Last night," gritted out John.

"But, I thought you were meant to be on a date with Lieutenant Hatherley." Sh'Alaack looked concerned. "Was that why his spirits were so low this morning?" Which was a bit on the nose. Also, he gave himself several mental lectures about being a bad boyfriend and bad galactic chock full of bias for being surprised that that was the sort of thing an Andorian would notice.

John turned to Khel. "Let's do your first pre-natal checkup, shall we?"

John commed Hatherley as soon as they left. "Sorry again about last night. Let me make it up to you. I make a mean goulash, and I mean actually cook, not replicate. Why don't you join me at my place? Our usual time?"

That night was nice. More than nice. Hatherley was appreciative of the food John cooked. He complimented the spices. He'd replicated a nice grenache that went very well with dinner. When John leaned in for a kiss, he was a little surprised when Hatherley stopped him. "First we need to discuss what we're comfortable with."

John had completely forgotten about Hatherley's habit of fully discussing the parameters of what sexual activities his partners were interested in.

The written checklist was new.

"No, I don't enjoy being penetrated," said Hatherley. "Sorry, but we'll need to check that one right off the list. He actually lined it out.

By the time they were through a frankly exhaustive set of possible criteria, John had had two cups of tea, completely lost the happy flush of the wine, and was too tired to do anything but say goodnight to Hatherley.

He spent several uncomfortable minutes staring at his bed, remembering Sherlock's cries of delight when John had penetrated him.

He cleaned his teeth and focused on going to sleep.

Very firmly.

He absolutely told himself to go to sleep.

After all, Hatherley had made a nice effort. Respectful. Very, thoughtful. At the morning's briefing, he squeezed Hatherley's hand. "Thank you for being so careful."

"I am an engineer," grinned Hatherley. "I like to have clearly defined specs." He squeezed back before letting go.

Sherlock swept into the room, looked at them, scowled, and flung himself into his chair. He spent the entire briefing with his hands folded as if in prayer.

John ended up repeating the main point their mission back to Hudson to be sure that Sherlock was listening. "Is Starfleet sure about having the Bakerstreet escort a diplomat to a negotiation? Wouldn't a Galaxy class ship be better?"

"It's a secret mission, pay attention, John." Sherlock's eyes opened. He cleared his throat. "Clearly the point of sending a Pegasus Chimera class ship is no one would expect it. The ambassador will negotiate at a secret location for access to high quality dilithium crystals from an undisclosed seller."

"Reserve supplies must be low after having to outfit so many ships," said Hudson.

"It'll take the facilities on Ophiucus III at least six months before they could mine and process enough crystals to restore our reserves," said Smith. When they all looked at her, she shrugged. "I'm from New Newcastle. I know mining."

"The Ambassador is requesting the largest quarters on the ship, which are the Commanders," said Donovan.

"Fine, whatever," said Sherlock abruptly.

"But where will you sleep?" protested Hunter.

"Shush, never mind," said Hudson.

A slow smile spread across Sherlock's face. "I'll bunk in Lieutenant Hatherley's quarters. You don't mind do you? It'll give the two alphas on board a chance to get to know each other."

John decided now was not the time to discuss the possibility that Bailey was considering transitioning. Instead he said, "That's perfect. Hatherley can bunk in my quarters, while Commander Holmes takes Hatherley's quarters."

Sherlock glared at John. "The couch will be terrible on his back, which would be derelict of me as a commander. While I hardly sleep anyway. I'll sleep on his couch."

John opened his mouth to say that Hatherley wouldn't be sleeping on the couch, when Hudson cut him off. "I said, shush. Now shush. There are plenty of rooms on the ship. No need for anyone to… just hush." She looked very cross. She muttered something about "Idiots," and "It doesn't take being a telepath to know some things," while calling up the coordinates where they would be meeting the Ambassador's shuttle.

As the meeting broke up, Sherlock said, "Doctor, a moment."

John remained behind, while Hudson grumbled, "Oh, for heaven sakes. That won't work."

Sherlock tapped his hands together. "John, you look tired."

"Well, I'm not." He added stubbornly, "I would like to be tired if you'd give me a chance to get a leg over."

"Ah, what I mean to say was that given all the hard work you've put in, I'll be crediting you for an additional hour, two hours, in the holodeck."

"Um," John was mildly chuffed at this peace offering, which come to think of it Sherlock always had been remarkably generous with during John's time as his T.A. Less thinking about how he'd used and abused that generosity, the better. Perhaps that's why he said, "Thanks. I've been meaning to show Hatherley the holo recording for my parent's last production of Hamlet. That should be about enough time."

Sherlock's stared at John. He kept staring.

John figured that was this was his chance to go. He left Sherlock staring at the wall.

He didn't show Hatherley the recording. There wasn't really time. He did make time to have dinner at Hatherley's. He did make time to very determinedly make use of questions one through seven on Hatherley's questionnaire. The sex was nice. Very nice. Pleasant. Sweet even. Hatherley did not look at John as if he'd invented sex or a cure for a rare disease. He was nice.

John didn't stay afterwards beyond a short cuddle. They both had early shifts in the morning.

After that, they picked up Ambassador Arthur Cadogan West III.

John wasn't there, but when Washington came in with Lucy for her weekly pre-natal exam, he did an excellent impression of the Ambassador's high voice saying, "Smaller and more Spartan than I'm used to, but what can I expect from an Augment."

Lucy poked Washington. "Tell him what Commander Holmes said." She grinned at John. "It's the best part.

"Doc, you should have seen it. The Commander deduced him something amazing. How he was,"

"No, you're doing it wrong. Do the voice," said Lucy.

"Gimme a min, takes a moment." Washington snaked his head side to side, setting the small dreadlocks to dancing. He stood up very straight and dropped his voice into a decent imitation of Sherlock's. "Your clothes are hand tailored synesthetic Rigilean silk. Not a bonded tailor. A bonded tailor wouldn't leave a tailor's mark clearly visible on your left trouser leg or use synthetic fiber. Your shoes are likewise handmade, but your slight limp indicates that your left shoe is too tight. Inference, you're trying to give the appearance of status. Wanting appear to have access to hand made goods without being willing to do the labor required to obtain the social credit to exchange for those goods."

Washington put his hands together, exactly like John'd seen Sherlock do, and circled round the John, while Lucy chuckled.

"This assignment is secret," Washington continued in an imitation of Sherlock's voice, before he shifted to a falsetto, "I assure you that my superiors know," then held his hand out, his voice dropping again, "I'm not finished. It's a mission that will get you off of Earth for at least three months not only to negotiate the deal, but to oversee its result in the instance of your unlikely success. In six months, I'm informed the Federation dilithium reserves will be back to capacity. Inference, your superiors want you out of the way. Given your insistence on being called the third of your name, your family obtained the position for you, but are unwilling to provide you with the status symbols you crave. I could comment on the reddened skin around your neck as indicative of autoerotic activities, oh, wait I just did. So I think that's enough to be going on with."

Washington bowed.

John clapped.

"Yeah, that one's an utter dick." Washington helped Lucy up onto a biobed. "Good to see the Commander taking him down a few pegs."

"The Ambassador is making everyone's lives miserable. I actually heard him say Augments keep real humans from being able to advance in diplomatic circles." Lucy sighed. "I have to wear a lab coat whenever I leave my quarters, and wear this horrible perfume that makes me sneeze to cover the shift in my scent."

John had to think that it was unlikely that Ambassador West would know what the floral tinge to Lucy's scent meant, but he did understand it was her career if the prick did notice.  He said, "I'll distill an extract of tribble oil for you. You can mix it in your next batch of skin clay."

"John. I've told you this a thousand times. It's called otjize."

"And the scent of the tribble oil will cover your pregnancy pheromones." Then he got down to details about the blastocyst. Only one and healthy according to the scanner. Albeit, he wanted her to remain on a regime of immune suppressants.

Lucy thanked him – if not for the illnesses they'd have to work hard to protect her from – told him no thank you about having Julian sit on her exams, and the two of them left.

That night, John waited until ten for Hatherley to come over his quarters, when he didn't show up, he went to bed.

Hatherley swung by in the morning with an odd expression. He apologized to John with a light kiss on the cheek. "Sorry about last night. The Ambassador insisted Commander Holmes have engineering verify the calibration on all the isolinear chips. So the commander came with us. If I never have to crawl through another Jeffries tube with him, it'll be too soon. My team fell asleep on the couches in our break room around one hundred hours, while the Commander, he kept going." He lowered his voice as if they weren't alone in John's quarters. "I'm not sure he needs sleep. I've heard some Augments have a reduced need for it, but… I've never seen anything like it."

John couldn't quite suppressed a start thinking about another time Sherlock had been sleeplessly determined about something in the Jeffries tubes. What they'd done with each other, to each other.

To make up for his thoughts, John made Hatherley real coffee from his personal supply. Hatherley laughed. "I'd forgotten how obsessed you were with real things." He blinked at John sleepily over the top of his cup. A strand of auburn hair falling forward across his handsome cheeks.

John really ought to want to fuss over him. Or protest that real things had value. He told himself that Hatherley was tired and walked with him to the morning briefing.

Once there, Sherlock was practically manic, spitting out ideas for improvements that they could do right then. Hatherley looked less and less tired and more and more apoplectic with protests about Starfleet protocols and specifications. The moment he let go of his mug, Sherlock took it, the berk. Talking faster and faster, because clearly there was someone who did not need more caffeine. 

West swept in at the end of the meeting, wearing a one shoulder cape number that made him look like an utter twit, and said, "What are you all still doing here? I thought I made it clear that I'm going to need to use this space for my work. The quarters I've been assigned are simply too small for my needs." He flipped the edge of his cape.

If there was a man who was not meant to wear capes, it was West.

John crushed the thought that Sherlock would look very nice in a cape. Very nice indeed.

Sherlock sat down in his chair and put his feet on the table. "It's called the Captain's ready room and I am the captain of this ship."

"You only have the rank of commander," said West, who amazingly went to go sit at Sherlock's desk at the other end of the room. "Lieutenant Donovan. I'm going to need to review your security procedures to see that they are up to my requirements."

"Really," said Donovan.

"Yes, really," said West.

Hudson snorted, coughed, just as the door opened and Khel came in clutching an enormous data pad. She said, "Sorry I'm late? I was feeling a bit queasy, and I wanted to make sure that I got these right. But Sh'Alaack was so worried that I wouldn't show the proper respect for Commander Holmes that she insisted that I should come to the meeting no matter what." She smiled and John was fascinated to see Khel had a dimple. Gone was the somewhat withdrawn Andorian John had seen before. Mostly staying in the quarters the Andorians had been assigned. She was glowing, which fine, she was pregnant, but her smile was infectious.

He'd been under the impression that Andorians were too serious to smile.

"Queasy," said West, rolling his chair back. "I shouldn't be near a sick being."

"Oh, it's not catching," said Khel wrinkling her nose at West. She even winked at John, before setting her pad down on the table. "At least not for you. I've caught exactly what I hoped to catch." She flicked a massive architectural drawing onto the main wall monitor from her pad. "Commander. This is the change I'm proposing for our quarters. I've also included," she flicked another design onto the screen, "a design for a nursery in one of the unused labs on the research deck. That way when Ensign Hebron has her little one and I have the twins there will be a place we can let them play together."

"Nursery," said West. He stood up and looked in horror at the drawing. "What kind of starship is this?"

"Mine," said Sherlock. Sherlock looked at Khel. He looked at West. He grinned and if Khel's smile glowed, Sherlock's could have lit up a room. He said almost conspiratorially. "Khel, is an architect."

"Journeyman," said Khel absently. "I only just finished my apprenticeships when the matchmaker got us word that she'd found a match for us. A wonderful match." She blushed and put her hand over her abdominal pouch.

 "This Andorian is a civilian," said West. "What's she doing here?"

"We have dispensation," said Khel, looking between West and Sherlock. "I think it's all within regulations."

"I'm fairly certain that Ensign Hebron, whoever that is, doesn't have dispensation to... to... spawn on a starship. You can be sure that I'll be telling Command about this as soon as you leave my ready room."

"Can't," said Donovan, crossing her arms. "We're running silent until we reach the rendezvous. If you want to bitch, it'll have to wait until we finish what we're going to do."

"You can be sure that I will," said West, shifting in the chair to untrap his cape so that he could move.

Sherlock said, "Ensign Sh'Alaack asked if she could have her quarters redesigned to accommodate her family, but I'm thinking," he peered at the drawing, "you have ten months before you'll need this. You should redesign the ready room as a portfolio piece."

Khel's eyes widened. "Really." She looked around the room. "This would be an amazing space to modify."

West sputtered. "But I need this space."

"And we're in space," said Hatherley, who was now standing. "A civilian can't just add on bits to a starship. Those have to go through thorough design reviews. There's a formal CAB process."

Khel giggled, "Andorian architecture is more like, how do Humans say it?"

 "Interior design," supplied Hudson.

Sherlock clapped his hands. "It's settled. Khel will redesign my ready room, and West can do any work he needs to do in the cargo hold." He held up Hatherley's mug and drained the coffee that John had made for Hatherley.

"This is going to be a long three weeks," muttered Hunter.

Hudson said, "Ambassador West, you mentioned earlier that you were concerned about your health. Perhaps you should go with the doctor and have him see to you."

John, for once, did not protest that he was not actually a doctor yet. He turned Julian off when they got to sickbay and gave West the full workup.

West said, "My health is utterly critical to this mission. I've always been prone to slight colds when exposed to reprocessed air. So, unfortunate that Starfleet doesn't go into hydroponics for oxygen generation like all the best starliners do." He then proceeded to tell John about all the starliners he'd taken, which led to a description of every symposium he'd been to and how very important he was."

Then he took over John's office. "Small, but it'll have to do."

It was a very long three weeks.

He had Donovan in to grill her on her security and how she was going to keep him safe.

He had Hatherley in to give him reports on a full diagnostic.

"He's convinced a key system will fail causing him to miss the meeting," groaned Hatherley after the third time he had to cancel a date on John. 

John only drove him out when he lit into poor Lucy when she came in for her physical. Ordinarily, she could have handled herself, but somehow knowing she was on the wrong side of regulations, and whatever mental self-flagellation she'd been doing over her pregnancy, had her standing there grey and silent while West lectured her about loose Augment morals.

Washington inhaled and looked about ready to assault the Ambassador, which would do no ones careers any good.

"Out!" John pushed West out of sickbay. "According to regulation 1246B Section 4," which he'd just invented, "I must invoke doctor patient privilege."

Course, that led to Hudson begging John to keep the Ambassador away from Sherlock. "I'm little concerned the Commander might snap."

Donovan muttered, "He's not the only one. I didn't think we could find someone more fucking obnoxious than the freak."

John sighed and went to apologize to West. Said, "Best I should accompany you when you go about the ship in case materials kicked up affect your critical health."

Of course, West agreed to that.

That was why John was on the bridge when they arrived at their destination, a lifeless world with no atmosphere, orbiting a white dwarf.

They weren't the first ship there.

Already in orbit were a Breen warship, Romulan Bird of Prey, a Klingon Raptor, an Orion Marauder, and three Ferengi trading ships.

"Looks like we weren't the only invites," said Smith. She peered at the Breen ship. "Do you think that's a Mark V? I'd love to get a better look at its engine schematics. I hear the Breen use organics in their ship design and that they can go Warp 9 without breaking a sweat."

"Because we wouldn't want sweaty Breen under all that armor," said Hunter.

 "Oh, that's as close as any of us will ever get," sighed Hudson. "They closely guard access to their ship's specifications. As we all do."

"As long as they don't try to access our specs, we're good," said Donovan, crossing her arms.

Hunter said, "Commander, we're being hailed." She turned around. "It's from the planet."

The monitor shifted to the image of a tall narrow faced Human wearing an old fashioned Human suit in black and a thick gold ring. He said, "Welcome, to the dilithium auction."

Sherlock sat up straight in the command chair.

Ambassador West said, "What is the meaning of this? I was given to understand that the Federation was being offered an opportunity to negotiate in good faith."

"Then your understanding was incomplete," said the Human twirling some sort of jewel topped cane. "I'm fairly certain it was all in the auction proposal. The Federation has been offered an opportunity to bid in a closed auction with some other very interested competitors for what my clients have to offer."

"Clients, Mycroft? Really?" bit out Sherlock.

The Human smiled, "Ah, Sherlock, how fortuitous that you were assigned this mission. All will be revealed when you beam down. I'm transmitting the coordinates now."

John looked at Sherlock. "You know him?" and tried not to sound insanely curious.

"Yes," bit out Sherlock.

Ambassador West huffed, "If you have information that could be critical to my mission, I must insist that you share it forthwith."

Sherlock glared at Ambassador West. "Mycroft is never critical and never interesting."

Hudson said, "I'll assemble an away team, shall I? Yes, I think I shall." She tapped on the controls in front of her.

John accompanied the away team at Hudson's request. "Really, we wouldn't want the Ambassador's health to take a turn for the worst, now would we? You stay close to the Commander." She pushed him in between the Ambassador and Sherlock.

Hudson and Donovan also joined the away team. Donovan muttered, "By all means, let's have half the command staff of the ship beam down."

Washington, who rounded out the group, glared at West over John's shoulder.

They beamed into a large chamber glittering with crystals.

"Are those dilithium crystals?" asked Ambassador West.

"Just a little example of what my clients have on offer," said Mycroft standing by a particularly large cluster. Like Sherlock, Mycroft had a very strong alpha scent. It was musky, but there was something slightly off about it. Coppery. Something that put John on edge. Mycroft said, "Now if you'll follow me." He held the top of his polished wooden walking stick forward. As he did so, his gender ring, gold and glittering with dilithium crystals, made an ostentatious clicking noise.

"Interesting," said Hudson holding her hand against her temple. "You've had training. Most Humans project their thoughts every which way. It's all I can do to keep them out, but you've built a wall."

"Some of us," Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, "are less susceptible to that sort of thing."

Sherlock growled. John put his hand on his wrist. Sherlock glanced down, and his growl died away. John gave him a little friendly squeeze. A faint smile curved Sherlock's lips.

John leaned up to Sherlock. "So, who is this berk?"

"My arch enemy," was Sherlock's in no way overly dramatic reply.

They followed Mycroft down a corridor carved from some sort of grey rock. John was in training to be a doctor, not a geologist, and into another crystal filled chamber. It became clear who Mycroft's clients were. There were several Breen holding Type III disrupters on the lot of them. Their competition were sitting in small clusters of chairs.

It also explained their location.

The Breen Confederation was famous for establishing mining facilities on obscure uninhabitable rocks throughout the quadrant. Often trading technology, particularly biotech related to their unique ship designs, for icy worlds and mineral rich asteroids. Their planet had to be inhospitable, because they never went anywhere out of their armor.

As to the disrupters, they were a race of warlike pricks, who made the Klingons think twice about crossing them. What with the invading Klingon fleet they'd once made disappear.

"Well, that puts paid to my presence," muttered Hudson. "I can't read Breen or Ferengi. Although, those Romulans are up to no good, to state the obvious as my grandmother liked to say."

Mycroft clapped his hands and everyone turned to look at him. "Honored guests. Please take you seats. I have been authorized to represent my clients in selling exclusive access to the dilithium crystals all around you to whichever organization provides the best bid."

"A good strategy," said one of the Ferengi, leaning back in his chair. "Get us bidding against each other to drive up the price." He smiled. "They look like nice enough crystals, but they're not worth both poles of Ferenginar, a few comets, and a frozen moon."

"Since your ancestors already sold those to the Breen in exchange for warp technology," said Mycroft twirling his walking stick. "It would be difficult to sell them twice."

If John hadn't been keeping half an eye on Sherlock, he might not have noticed the tightening around his eyes. The way his smile hardened into what John privately thought of as his, "Normal Person" smile at the reference to Ferenginar's moon.

"You'd be surprised," said the Ferengi. The other Ferengi with him laughed.

There wasn't time to think about Sherlock's reaction, as one of the Klingons stood up, all leather and bravado. "I am K'tacgh of the house of Mo'Kai. I do not speak to underlings. I will negotiate with the Breen myself."

"While we prefer not to do business," said the Ferengi, sneering at the Romulan ambassador and Hudson, "with women in the room. Women in clothing."

Mycroft spun the stick. The crystal at its tip glittering in the light.  "Then negotiations will be between the Federation, the Romulans, and the Orions." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "The Breen are not willing to talk strangers and I am unwilling," he gestured to the Romulan ambassador, "to eliminate a potentially lucrative offer."

"But the Breen will speak to you," said one of the Orions.

"I am not a stranger."

"How do we know the quality of the dilithium crystals that you offering?" asked the Romulan ambassador. "The Star Empire is indeed willing to make a very advantageous offer, but not without knowing what we're purchasing."

Hudson whispered to John. "She's trying to stall so that three additional warbirds can arrive." She looked around the room. "The Klingons are planning to do the same thing."

Ambassador West spoke up. "I was told to get a sample." He lifted his chin. "The Federation also wants to see what we're buying."

"A sample is what you will all get." Mycroft snapped his fingers and a Breen pulled out a small device, quickly cutting off crystals from the walls around them. "You will all have an hour to examine the crystal and then bidding will commence."

"Please, if we could have more time," said the Romulan ambassador. Her voice was so oily it sounded like it could catch fire. "Given the nature of the auction, we were able to determine that your clients were the Breen in advance, and have prepared a compelling offer, but my scientists will need time to analyze what you've given us. We'll need six hours at least."

"We will need six hours as well," said K'tacgh, crossing his burly arms.

"Amateurs," said the Ferengi. "The consortium of Suractor are experts in dilithium. We'll only need one hour. Clearly, we're the better partner for a race that specializes in mining. We could help open many markets for your products. This could be just the beginning of a lucrative partnership."

Mycroft conferred with a tall Breen behind him. He said, "Two hours and we are generous. Send your samples up to your ships and take this opportunity to explore the cave system so you can see how extensive our offer is."

"If that is all you will allow," said the Romulan ambassador sourly. She handed the crystal to an underling, who scurried out of the room.

Hudson took possession of their crystal. She said, "I'm going to update the crew to be ready for trouble and request backup. Be sure to keep an eye on the Commander, there's a dear."

John nodded.

He watched Mycroft approach Sherlock and say something to him. Sherlock angrily with a slashing gesture of his right hand. They had the same height. But where Sherlock was all motion and energy, Mycroft reminded John of a black hole. Pulling all light into its orbit. Cold. It might have been his scent. There was something off in general about him.

John did not like the way he was looking at Sherlock. Standing next to him. And there was the whole arch enemy comment. If he was Sherlock's enemy, John wanted him nowhere near Sherlock.

Just then there was a high pitched scream from beyond the stalagmites and glittering pillars that blocked the view further into the chamber. John ran in the direction of the scream, but it took several minutes to thread his way through the maze of pillars.

Finally, he got to the source of the scream. Washington had gotten there ahead of him and was already there looking down at a body on the ground with a gold knife sticking out of its back. A pool of blood spread across the floor, staining Ambassador West's silly one shouldered cape.

John turned the figure gently over, but he hardly needed the confirmation that Ambassador West was dead.

The Orion ambassador hissed, and left as if to seek the greater safety of the rest of his people.

"It would seem," said Mycroft to the Romulan ambassador, who had arrived behind them, "that you'll get your six hours. It would only be fair to your Federation rivals as Commander Holmes finds out what he has been authorized to bid on the Federation's behalf."

The Roman ambassador smiled coolly. "A double fortune for the Empire under terrible circumstances."

Sherlock crouched next to the body.

Mycroft said, "And what do you see?"

Sherlock looked up. "A Ferengi knife branded for the Suractor consortium."

"I never," said the lead Ferengi. "We were over there and we'll all agree that's where we were. We would never kill a competitor at auction."

"We'd kill them with our bidding prowess," said another Ferengi, elongating the final s through scraggly teeth.

"Unfortunately, this does mean that you will not be participating in this auction." Mycroft tisked. "So, unbusiness like. But," he held a hand up, "at least you got a dilithium crystal without paying for it."

The protesting Ferengi were escorted to the upper chamber for beam out.

Donovan said, "We'll need to bring the body back to the ship."

"Touch nothing," said Sherlock. He bent down and inhaled next to the blade. "No odor on the handle." He bent down and lightly licked it. "No taste of the ear lobe wax they were all wearing." He sat back on his heels. "Also, they were correct. They wouldn't have soured a future profitable relationship for possible profit today. They're dilithium traders. They have a long term interest in a culture that focuses so much of its energy on mining."

"For all I know, you're the one who killed him," said Donovan, putting her hands on her hips. "He got on under your skin, didn't he? Maybe he pushed you a step too far and you snapped like an alpha exposed to blood."

"Yes, of course, I killed a man, framed someone successfully and then undermined my own frame. That makes sense," said Sherlock. "It was as likely to have been Washington. He had more motive and opportunity. He'd clearly looked at the body before the Doctor moved it."

Washington took a step back. "What? I wouldn't have."

Sherlock flapped a hand at him. "I've already eliminated you as a suspect."

"You're not the one who gets to eliminate suspects," insisted Donovan.

"Commander Holmes was talking to the auctioneer when we heard the scream," said John.

"And isn't that suspicious," said Donovan pointing at Sherlock. "What were you talking about?"

"He wants me to go into the family business and I was telling him to sod off," said Sherlock, who stood up. He looked at the crystal stalagmite. "Why did West come over here?" He shifted right and left on his heels. "It's out of the line of sight from where we were standing. The killer had to know that. Had to be familiar with this space."

Washington shrugged. "Anyone can see that this room is full of rocks. No clear line of sight for ten feet in any direction."

"Which is itself evocative." Sherlock turned around. "There was no reason to hold the auction down here. They could easily have held this on a ship or a space station."

"I dunno," said John. "It's pretty impressive looking isn't it. All that rock all around us."

"Of course," Sherlock grinned. "That's it." He tapped his communicator, but there was no response from the ship. "We can't communicate from down here." A look of alarm flashed across his face. "I have to get back to the ship." He sprinted back the way they'd come.

Donovan ran after him. "You can't go without an escort."

This left John and Washington with the body. John looked down. The ambassador wasn't going anywhere. "You stay with the body."

"Yes, sir," said Washington glumly.

John went back through the rock formations, but they all looked the same. He was sure he was going in the right direction, but soon found himself completely turned around. He tried to listen for the sounds of people, but noise was echoing off the stone. Coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"Lost," said Mycroft stepping from behind yet more rocks.

"A bit," said John warily. "If you could show me the way."

"Of course." Mycroft bowed slightly led John around several pillars and into a completely separate chamber. This one was not lined in crystal, but lights had been rigged on the ceiling. There was a large red pillow laying on the ground. "Have a seat." Mycroft gestured at the pillow.

"I'll stand," because sod sitting like a dog at Mycroft's feet.

Mycroft pulled a small pad out of his coat pocket and slid his finger over it humming.

"I'd really like to go back to the others now." John glanced around. Old acquaintance of Sherlock's or not, he'd bash his head with a rock if this went sideways.

"What is your relationship with Sherlock?"

"None of your damn business," said John.

"And yet you've had on three separate encounters." He held up his index, middle, and ring finger. "With the first encounter being so filled with passion that you cannot recall how many times you coupled."

John took a step back. "How could you possibly know that?"

Mycroft put away the pad. "I have my ways. I merely wish to give you a friendly warning. My brother's path is not your path." He smiled at John's shocked expression. "I see, you didn't even know he had a brother. Who did he tell you I was, his arch enemy?" He gave another supercilious smile. "You would be best to continue dating your engineer."

"I'll find my own way back," said John. He kept his eyes on Mycroft as he walked away, but Mycroft didn't move. That strange tinge to his scent lingering long after John walked away.

John found the place where the auction was supposed to take place. He made his way up to the upper chamber and beamed back to the ship. "Computer, what is the Commander's location."

"Deck ten, geology lab," said the computer.

John made his way to the geology lab. Sherlock was in the process of tossing the dilithium crystal into a lead lined chamber.

John said, "I think you're brother has hacked our computers. Also, you have a brother."

Just as Sherlock said, "It's not a real crystal. It's a scanning device." Sherlock blinked. "How do you know?"

John rolled his eyes. "Because your brother knew something he'd only know if he'd accessed the holographic doctor's memory. It's on its own separate dedicated system."

"Of course. All of our systems implement defense in depth. Access to one does not imply access to all. But the emergency hologram has limited security perimeters." Sherlock snapped his fingers. "It would be the simplest to hack. But Mycroft only would have told you if he knew he had failed." Sherlock rapped the box. "That's why he was willing to let the Ferengi go. Because it became clear they would immediately look at the crystal and know what it was."

John shook his head. "Too bad you didn't know in advance. You could have mocked up some false secrets for him to steal."

Sherlock grabbed John's arms and roughly pressed a kiss to his lips before he was away again. Laughing. "You are a genius."

He accessed a station and rapidly typed something.

John stood there holding his hand to his lips. His tingling lips. On legs that were more weak from a rough peck on the lips, not a bit of tongue, than actual sex with Hatherley touching three erogenous zones from the list.

Hatherley, who he was still calling by his last name.

John said, "Fuck!" many times to himself. Because he'd be a right prick if he didn't act on this realization.

Sherlock completed what he was doing. He pulled the crystal back out of the box and pulled John out the door. "Computer. Isolate this room and lock down its access to any other system."

"Won't Mycroft still get access to what's in that room?"

Sherlock laughed. "I purged everything but a copy of Moby Dick, which I then encrypted with triple AES 640 encryption." He wriggled and spun. Laughing. Mesmerizing. "He'll be able to decrypt it, of course, it's an old standard, and he'll suspect the entire time that it's a trick, but he'll have to do it anyway. He'll waste so much time." He practically danced to the door. "Let's go back to the auction."

"So, your brother killed the ambassador?"

"No." Sherlock stopped. "If the ambassador were alive, I'd still be down there, telling Mycroft to sod himself. Something doesn't make sense." Sherlock rapped his knuckles on the side of his head. "I need more information. Once more into the breech."

John followed him. Thinking, "Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge. Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!"

They arrived back down on the planet. Sherlock examined the body. He examined the knife. He finally allowed crewman to take both back to the ship.

"Sherlock," said Mycroft. "The auction is about to begin."

Sherlock sniffed. "Boring."

"Do you forfeit then?"

"No, I'll see this through." Sherlock sat down with ill grace in one of the chairs. The Orions opened with a bid of a small comet, but they didn't seem terribly committed to winning. The Romulans offered an ice moon and the location that Khahless had been buried in space. The Klingon's growled and bid the location of a Romulan decimated fleet drifting in space and the ice caps of one of their colony worlds.

This went on for some time until a Romulan whispered in the Romulan ambassador's ear. She stood up. "Negotiations are at an end. Our warbirds have arrived. We'll be taking control of this rock and all its mineral wealth."

The Klingons stood up. Their leader said, "We will fight you for it. I have only to hold your pathetic birds off until my own ships arrive. We will take this planet for the glory of the Klingon Empire."

"Sherlock, until our next family meeting then," said Mycroft. He tapped his walking stick three times on the ground, and he and the Breen dematerialized. Around them the crystals began to pulse.

Sherlock said, "You may all wish to run."

"Federation, coward," said the Klingon.

John and Sherlock ran, as around them the crystals flashed faster and faster.

They reached the upper chamber as the lights reached a fever pitch of blinking. As they materialized on the Bakerstreet, Sherlock grumbled, "Does he think I'm as slow as he is. Sixty seconds. Ha."

Hunter commed down. "Commander, a massive explosion just wiped out a thousand kilometer area on the planet."

"Typical," said Sherlock. He beckoned to John. "Are you with me? We still have one more mystery to solve."

"What?" asked John.

"Have you forgotten? The ambassador was murdered." Sherlock got in the turbo lift. "It wasn't the Ferengi. It wasn't Mycroft. The Orions had made a deal with West to have him throw the auction. Once the Romulans and the Klingons revealed that they had ships on the way, it became clear neither of them had anything to gain. Either one of them was quite capable of stalling the auction until their ships arrived. Which only leaves one group of suspects?"

"Who?"

"Us," grinned Sherlock.

They went to deck five and down the hallway. Sherlock stopped in front of a door. "May I come in?"

"Of course, dear," replied Hudson. "You're just in time for tea."

They went into Hudson's cozy quarters. Sherlock sat down opposite her. He drank a sip of tea. "At first, I thought the murderer might be Crewman Washington, but the Ferengi knife was too nice a detail. It even had the right branding on it. Then it occurred to me, there was one individual who was always urging that John provide an alibi for me. Why do that, unless that person was planning on murdering the ambassador." He lifted his tea and took a sip. "After all, at worst I'd have revealed his gambling habit, further details on his sexual predilections, and so on."

"Too true," said Hudson. "You have such a soft a heart. It's why certain secret organizations that do not exist never recruited you, if you must know."

"Uh," said John, looking between Sherlock and Hudson. "Are you saying that she… that she…are you a member of…"

"I was once a covert agent. I killed that horrible man, yes, to both dear." Hudson sipped her tea. "He had quite the gambling debts. Thought about them constantly. It's why he was keeping us all so busy and wanted to have access to the communications equipment in the ready room. He wanted to distract everyone from the poorly encrypted messages he was sending to the Orions. As if I needed to decrypt his message when I could hear him thinking about how he'd betray the Federation in exchange for a payment. It wasn't even the first time he'd done it. His family connections covered it up before. They have would again." She looked at Sherlock over the top of her tea cup. "We're all fools for family."

"Uh," said John.

"Not all of us," said Sherlock. He drank his tea. "Some of us make our own families." He stood up. "Excellent tea by the way."

"I'm your XO dear, not your minder."

"Although, it would appear you are not here purely to serve as my first officer."

"My covert days are far behind me." She smiled and had another sip of tea. "This was merely the patriotic action of a first officer."

As they left, John whispered to Sherlock. "Aren't we going to do something? Report her?" He didn't particularly want to, but felt they should do something.

"Why? Clearly the Ferengi murdered the ambassador. There's a knife and everything." They walked a little farther. "Anyway, she does all the boring aspects of my job." Sherlock winked at John. "I may never get another XO quite like her."

He said more softly. "Now that my doctor has abandoned me."

John pretended not to hear him.

They parted ways at the lift. Sherlock for the bridge and John for sickbay.

That night, John was scheduled to have dinner with Hatherley. John's quarters. He cooked. He described the day's events. At least some of them. He picked at his food. He tried to think how to frame things. "There's something else I need to say to you."

Hatherley leaned back in his chair and put his napkin to one side. "Yeah." He waited. Handsome and a little dull.

"I don't think things are going to work out and I don't want to lead you on by dragging things out."

Hatherley nodded. "Because we don't have the kind of connection that you have with Commander Holmes."

"I'm not together with… the Commander. I mean, everyone seems to gossip about everyone, but,"

"John. The first thing I do when I start work on any ship, is I examine every centimeter of the engine. I familiarize myself with every aspect of the system. I ummm…. Crawl every Jeffries tube, so I can get a sense of the ship."

"Ah," said John.

"Yeah. You know, practically everyone on this ship has in some way or another told me an orgy story about the week between Earth and Starbase 139. Except you. That cadet who was so open about his sexuality at the academy kept that private. I wasn't sure what that meant." He raised his eyebrows and slightly grimaced. "Wanted to give us both a chance to find our bearings, but so be it."

"I'm not with him," John felt compelled to insist.

"John, I'm trying to be an adult about this, but you're making that hard," said Hatherley, stiffly. "I think it may be best if I don't attend briefings for a bit. You should avoid visiting engineering." Added more than a bit passive-agro, "Not that you did before."

It wasn't possible for the door to slam when he left, but there was a definite click.

John cleaned up the table. His quarters were silent.

Too quiet.

He dropped by Sherlock's quarters. He could hear music faintly playing from inside. Sad and slow. The door opened as soon as he asked if he could come in. "Just thought I'd drop by."

Sherlock was holding a violin. He grinned and played a fast merry song.

John settled on the couch to listen. As the music washed over him, he decided that he didn't want to ruin this. What he had was good. That was a decision. He made it while listening to music flow over him and fade into the silence of space.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the things I wanted to explore with these stories (lightly) is the way in which implicit bias plays into into:  
> \- what medical research gets done. i.e., if the majority of people in a study are white men, then the research is missing the implications for medical conditions, therapeutics reactions, etc. for everyone not white men.   
> -And how doctor's implicit biases can affect treatments. Admittedly, the second part is a bit harder, because Julian is a hologram and John is an Augment, but I've done what I can.  
> https://www.uchicagomedicine.org/patient-care-articles/pritzker-medical-student-research-on-race-bias  
> https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3140753/  
> https://health.usnews.com/health-news/patient-advice/articles/2016-02-11/racial-bias-in-medicine-leads-to-worse-care-for-minorities  
> https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/apr/30/fda-clinical-trials-gender-gap-epa-nih-institute-of-medicine-cardiovascular-disease  
> https://www.popsci.com/article/science/white-dominated-medical-studies-put-us-minorities-risk  
> http://www.bu.edu/today/2014/why-medical-research-often-ignores-women/
> 
> For those who don't remember the Breen, here's what they look like:  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Breen
> 
> And for anyone who didn't spend weeks looking up again and again various stages in gestation, I had to write this up for myself: zygote (result of the 2 haploid cells joining: ovum + sperm), Morula (dividing a bit), Blastocyst (still dividing: and here's where John is saving off and putting in a box under his bed), embryo (5th to 11th week after fertilization), and fetus (12 week+).  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blastocyst#/media/File:Human_Fertilization.png  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zygote  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morula  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blastocyst  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_embryogenesis  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Embryo


End file.
